


Few and Far Between

by PrinceofFlowers



Category: Cowboy Bebop
Genre: Blood Magic, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, Questionable Doctor, will add more tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-12-10 08:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11687961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceofFlowers/pseuds/PrinceofFlowers
Summary: Spike Spiegel should have died that night.It would have taken a miracle to rip his soul from death's grasp.Luckily, a certain man was something of a miracle worker.Too bad miracles aren't always as good and pure and you'd think they are, nor the ones who preform them.





	1. Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground

**Author's Note:**

> Just had an idea for this. Mixing some magic in the world of Cowboy Bebop. An AU where Spike is saved at the end of the series.

He was dying.

He was dying, and he was okay with that.

Julia was dead.

Viscious was dead.

And now he, too, would be dead.

Climbing the staircase to heaven.

Or hell.

Either way, he was going to die.

On a dark night, on the cold ground.

His blood staining the staircase he collapsed on.

He was tired...

He closed his eyes, and everything was dark, and numb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO PROOFREADING WE DIE LIKE MEN


	2. Death Has No Sting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oisín finds a man-practically a corpse, and says "cool, dead body!" and brings him back home.

It was purely by accident.

Well, no.

No, that's a lie.

Oisín had a feeling, which he was right to have-

There had been...a bit of a mess, you could say.

Someone had attacked the Syndicate.

Oisín had no love for the Syndicate, but had better things to do than to get involved.

Well, that's what he told himself, really.

Instead, he found himself walking about, until he came across a body.

A young man with a mess of green and black hair, lying in a puddle of his own blood mingled with rain water.

Oisín could have ignored him, should have ignored him, but instead the wandering doctor bent down, and lightly pressed his fingers against the prone man's pulse.

Thump

Thump

The man was still alive, but barely.

Gently, Oisín turned the man over, then picked him up effortlessly, before walking back to his little hide out.

Briefly, he thought of what a bad idea this could be.

However, he could feel the pull, the coo of his instincts lulling him on the right path.

And they urged him to save this man, no matter what the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO PROOFREADING WE DIE LIKE MEN


	3. Medical Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oisín mixes magic and actual medical know-how to drag Spike back to the world of the living.
> 
> I don't know too much about medical stuff, so hopefully this is correct enough or vague enough to sound correct. I did do some research.
> 
> Magic is easier since it's not really a solid thing. Like, no one really ever does magic the same way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't do blood magic, kids. It can be dangerous.
> 
> I don't know too much about medical stuff, so hopefully this is correct enough or vague enough to sound correct. I did do some research.
> 
> Magic is easier since it's not really a solid thing. Like, no one really ever does magic the same way.

Oisín's little hide out was a decent little house.

Most of the space was devoted to his makeshift clinic, with some privacy curtains around his bed, a door leading to the bathroom, and another door leading to a closet, which was used to store his medical supplies.

Clothes and other personal belongings were stored in a long dresser, the top of which was covered with supplies, acting like a makeshift table or desk.

Herbs and the like hung from the ceiling to dry, and the kitchen was rather small, most space being taken by the two fridges, while most cabinets were filled with jars of carefully labeled herbs and other remedies instead of food.

The clinic had a examination table, and another table that was suitable enough for surgery, which he would most likely have to preform, so he set the man on top of that, the blood from his wounds already staining the white sheet a dark sanguine.

Oisín shucked off his clothes, replacing them with blue scrubs.

He then carefully washed his hands before slapping on some gloves, a face mask, and safety glasses, before turning his attention to his comatose patient.

This would be tricky.

Carefully, he peeled and cut away the blood-soaked clothes (and a throwing knife), revealing the man's chest.

Large, deep diagonal gash on his abdomen, along with a few smaller, but still worrisome, abrasions, and a few bullet holes.

He brought over a basin of clean, lukewarm water, and a few clean rags, and began cleaning up the wounds to get a better look at them.

"No exits from the bullets, so I'll have to fish those out." Oisín grumbled to himself.

Closer inspection of the slashes showed no signs of major arteries or veins being cut, nor of any organs being cut into.

So far, so good, but there was a lot of blood loss here, and infection could always occur, which could kill him just as easily as blood loss or septic shock.

Great.

Oisín took a deep breath, before setting to work, gathering sterile materials needed to patch this man up.

He also did a quick scan of his blood, to find out whether or not he had any blood that he could take.

Luckily, he did.

So Oisín set up an IV and the blood transfusion before getting to surgery.

It was a long, and grueling task, and the patient's heart stopped a few times, and had to be restarted.

However, in the end, the surgery was a success.

Oisín cleaned up, and allowed himself a breather.

Times like this are when he needed a damn assistant, but he has work to do, still.

He had done all he could medically for the man, but now?

Now, he could use some old fashioned witchcraft.

He set up the altar appropriate for the task at hand, wand ready, and began quite literally working his magic.

He could sense the man's soul- tired, weary, barely hanging on, not really wanting to hang on, and tried to strengthen it, and pull it back from the Beyond.

"Stubborn." Oisín growled, trying his best to tug the damn thing back. "You've got to have some reason to stay alive, kid. Don't you make my work for nothing."

He'd need to go deeper than this.

Reluctantly, he took a sample of the blood from the man, put it in a stone bowl, and cut himself.

His own blood trickled down, mixing with the man's blood in the bowl.

He then dipped his fingertips into he blood, and drew a sigil with it.

This was a bad idea, and he should have known not to turn back to this blood magick, but he was tired, and he needed to work fast.

And this always worked.

And it did.

Oisín sunk to his knees, clutching a spare rag to the cut on his arm as his chest heaved and he shook.

He'd done it.

The man was safe from death.

He could relax.

For now, anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO PROOFREADING WE DIE LIKE MEN


	4. Sweet Dreams, Space Cowboy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike almost died, but he's still alive.
> 
> Now, he's just asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably what went down in Spike's head while Oisín used blood magic to make sure he didn't fucking die.
> 
> Don't worry- Spike will be haunted by Julia soon enough. The blood magic just has him focused on the Bebop crew.
> 
> Once it wears off he'll prob think about her, and Viscious.

Dark, and cold.

That's what Spike felt at first, when he could feel.

He felt himself drifting away in an endless void, resigned to death.

He was so tired, and there was nothing left.

Until something grabbed him.

It burned compared to the numbing cold he felt before, and the contact let out a rush of memories and feelings.

The Bebop, and its crew.

Jet, Faye, and him.

Faye urging him to stay.

Jet, knowing he had to leave.

Spike went to find out if he were alive.

He supposed that he found out, but could he return?

Wasn't he already dead now?

In his quest to discover if he was actually alive, he seemed to have died.

But...

But...!

He could feel it.

Warmth spread from where he was grabbed, he could hear his heart beating, he could feel himself breathing.

He was alive.

He was alive.

But he was asleep, and he couldn't quite find the strength to wake up just yet.

He was still so tired.

Some rest wouldn't hurt, would it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO PROOFREADING WE DIE LIKE MEN


	5. The Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oisín goes about his life while waiting for Spike to wake up, or at least respond.
> 
> On the fourth night, he finally speaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you he'd mention Julia.

Oisín went about his days mostly the same, though he didn't really leave his home/clinic anymore.

He decided he'd wait around until his patient woke up.

In the meantime, he took in other patients, and made sure the comatose man was comfortable and still alive, changing his IVs and such to insure he still got the nescessary nutrients for him to function.

He had enough food for a week or so, and he got some money and supplies from taking care of other patients who'd walk in for care.

He didn't charge much, and in some cases he didn't charge at all, though many of his patients were proud folk who couldn't stand giving him nothing for his troubles, and would instead tend to gift him some herbs, food, sometimes crystals or feathers or other items that they knew he used.

He took it all in stride, business as usual.

Waiting for the man resting on his table to finally wake up.

He slept through the bustle of patients, the crying of infants, and the occasional nosy child who'd poke their head through the privacy curtains to see who was lying on the table.

He slept rather soundly for three days and nights.

However, on the fourth night, Oisín heard him whimper and mutter.

Concerned, he rushed to his side, to hear him mumble out a name.

"Julia."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO PROOFREADING WE DIE LIKE MEN


	6. Rest Your Weary Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the last chapter, Oisín treats a minor infection Spike ended up getting, and Spike is delirious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spike, Oisín looks nothing like Julia go back to sleep.

Oisín pressed a hand to the man's head.

Sweaty, kind of feverish.

Must be early start of infection, despite how often Oisín changed and cleaned his wounds.

Oisín worked quickly, getting the necessary tools and medicines ready.

He couldn't swallow anything right now, so he'd have to inject the medicines straight into him.

He scanned him over, prodding a bit to find which wound was infected.

Internal, probably caused by a tiny bit of cloth or something that he overlooked in his tired state.

He had to make an incision, take out the offending item, sew him shut, apply a salve, bandage him, and inject him.

He'd have to give him a sponge bath, as well, what with all that sweat.

So absorbed was Oisín in his work, that he didn't notice the man's bleary eyes open, until a limp hand tried to grab his arm, succeeding only in simply laying there, no strength to actually get a grip.

"My name is Oisín." Oisín stated after taking a few breaths to talk himself. "You'll be alright. I'm taking care of you."

He didn't seem to respond.

He didn't seem to hear him, really.

His hand fell, his eyes closing as he muttered that name once again.

"Julia."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO PROOFREADING WE DIE LIKE MEN


	7. The Witch's Sabbath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oisín takes a day off, and Spike finally wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah Yesterday was Lammas for me, August 1st, so I decided to have Oisín do some witchy stuff.
> 
> The god of protection isn't like. An Actual God. He's just a character in this story that will show up a few times.
> 
> Normally, on Lammas you'd worship (or something, if you don't wanna use that word) the sun.

Oisín was taking the day off.

Besides his usual duties of taking care of his still knocked out cold patient, he was using this day to relax.

It was August 1st, a witch's sabbath called Lammas or Lughnasadh, and he intended to celebrate it as well as he could, given his circumstances.

He would not let most things worry him today, and instead started baking bread, meditating, preparing his altar and offerings for the day, and singing.

His voice was deep and husky to begin with, but years on testosterone gave it a richer, deeper tone that would make the kitchen counter tremble from the bass of his voice if he sat on it while singing.

He sung of autumn, and of home, the scent of freshly baked bread and mint and sweet preservatives filling his home.

It soothed his worries, this time of relaxation.

It soothed him, despite the fact that there was much to worry about.

He had preformed blood magic to save this man, which would set those from his past back on his trail.

This man was connected to the syndicate, and there were people looking for him.

He would have to leave soon, and he needed this man- Spike Spiegel, as he discovered he was called, to wake up soon so that he could leave.

Oisín wasn't as religious as other witches could be, but he had prayed.

For the first time in a long time, he prayed to a god only he and his family really knew about.

The god of protection, whose mark he was born with.

And it seemed, that on this witch's sabbath, his prayers were answered.

Because his patient finally woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO PROOFREADING WE DIE LIKE MEN


	8. Before I Knew It, The Dream Was Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike is finally awake, and Oisín scrambles a bit to get him situated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bleh.
> 
> Anyways, Mead is a pretty common offering/drink for Lammas, which is why it was the first thing in Oisín's hands.
> 
> That, and Oisín is half-Irish, as his name reveals, though he doesn't really have an accent. (Haha, drunken Irish jokes. Whatever, let him Live)

Spike heard something.

He heard a low rumble of a voice singing a song he didn't know.

Then he smelt something.

Freshly baked bread, and sweet preservatives, and mint.

He felt warm.

Everything was warm, and comforting.

Like home.

Spike didn't know what that was.

Rather, he had forgotten.

Was he home?

He opened his eyes, and looked around.

It didn't look like the Bebop.

Spike tried to move, but felt pain.

He looked around a bit more, saw an IV drip in his arm, saw bandages where Vicious had slashed him open.

Spike was alive.

Where was he?

He saw a man, not nearly as lanky as himself, but not quite as beefy as Jet, staring at him.

"Who...are you?" Spike questioned after finding his voice.

God, his mouth was so dry.

The man in question grabbed the closest thing to drink and took long strides to him, carefully helping him sit up, bringing the glass bottle to his lips.

Honeyed mead?

Spike drank it anyways, too thirsty to care, but finding he quite liked how it tasted.

"My name is Oisín, I'm a doctor of sorts." The man finally answered. "I found you lying in a pool of your own blood and took you here to patch you up. How are you feeling?" 

"Sore. Hungry." Spike answered. "Got any smokes, doc?"

Oisín shook his head, and chuckled.

"I'm afraid not, but I can get you something to eat." He answered. "No solids for you quite yet, but I'll fix you a decent soup. Let me see if you're ready to stand."

His arms reached out, ready to help him when needed.

"How long have I been out?" Spike asked. 

"This would be day five, though you did open your eyes on night four." Oisín answered. "The salve I used on you worked wonders on your wounds- you've healed very nicely, and I should be able to remove the stitches by tomorrow, actually." 

He helped Spike onto his feet, taking care not to aggravate the wounds, and steadying the man.

Spike was surprised at how strong he seemed, but then again...

"Did you carry me here on your own?" He asked.

"You're heavier than you look, but you're not that heavy." Oisín replied, looking quite pleased with himself. "I didn't carry you too far, though, since I have a vehicle." 

Spike made a noise to voice his understanding, and it was silent for a moment, until Oisín spoke up.

"So, if you can walk just fine, the bathroom is over there. "Oisín pointed to a door.

"If you want something more comfortable to lie on, my bed is over there." He pointed towards a decently sized bed in a corner, with curtains pulled to the side, most likely for whoever he wanted some semblance of privacy.

"Take it easy for now, and I'll have the soup ready in a little bit." Oisín finished, very slowly letting Spike stand on his own, staying close for his first few steps before returning to the kitchen to prepare some soup.

And like that, Spike was left on his own, to explore his new surroundings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO PROOFREADING WE DIE LIKE MEN


	9. The Lull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike eats breakfast with Oisín after he wakes up.
> 
> Oisín lends him a shirt as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rip it's been a while. I tend to update sporadically.
> 
> This is sort of an in-between chapter. Nothing too exciting, it's just to fill in for later events.
> 
> The Bebop will be showing up soon tho, so yay!

It was an interesting place Spike found himself in.

It was a small little home made into a clinic.

Herbs hung from the ceiling to dry, there were medical supplies and the like covering the top of a dresser, a cushioned examination table hidden by curtains.

Turning around, Spike saw the operating table that he had been lying on before.

It looked as if it had been cushioned for his comfort.

Next to it was the IV that was once in his arm, which he questioned when Oisín had taken it out.

The man seemed to work so quickly.

Either that, or Spike just seemed to be really slow at the time.

He shivered, noticing for once that he didn't have a shirt on.

"Hey, doc, you got anything for me to wear?" Spike asked after he had slowly made his way to the kitchen.

"Yeah, check the second drawer of the second row in the dresser. That's where I keep my shirts. They'll be a bit big on you, though." Oisín instructed, only looking up once from what he was cooking.

Spike thanked him, before making his way to the dresser.

It was a bit difficult to open it without aggravating his injuries too much, but thankfully Oisín seemed to appear when he needed him, opening the drawer and fishing out a simple blue linen shirt.

As expected, it was a bit baggy on Spike, but it was a shirt, at least.

A clean shirt, to be exact.

"Your clothes were kind of a huge mess when I got you. Couldn't save the suit jacket or the shirt, but I did mend your coat." Oisín informed while setting the breakfast counter in the kitchen.

Spike sat himself down in one of the stools there, ready to eat.

Whatever it was, it smelled delicious, and he dug in immediately.

"Easy there, big guy." Oisín admonished. "Your food ain't going no where. Take it slow."

It was just a thick stew, but even so, it was good, and very filling.

"It's really good." Spike managed out between spoonfuls.

Oisín chuckled, eyes crinkling with mirth.

"I'm glad you enjoy it." He said, before eating his own meal.

The two ate in relative silence, more focused on finishing their meal instead of making small talk.

They could talk later, after all, and they'd definitely have a lot to talk about.

Oisín had to begin packing up to relocate, and Spike had to figure out how to contact Jet, and Faye.

However, Oisín had a feeling that somehow, his path would continue to coincide with this young man.

For better, or for worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO PROOFREADING WE DIE LIKE MEN


End file.
